Moving Day
by Settiai
Summary: "Where are my things?"


"Where are my things?"

At the sound of the familiar voice, Fenris glanced up from the book he was struggling through and raised an eyebrow. Anders was standing in the doorway wearing nothing but a pair of loose-fitting trousers, his wet hair hanging loose around his face. His arms were crossed awkwardly in front of his bare chest, and there was an annoyed look on his face.

Fenris's mouth twitched. "What things would those be, mage?" he asked.

"I'm not in the mood, Fenris," Anders snapped. "Where are they?"

Fenris closed the book in front of him, carefully marking his place as he did so. Then he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms in front of his own chest.

Anders narrowed his eyes.

Fenris stared straight back at him, the expression on his face carefully neutral.

Neither of them said anything for a moment or two. Then Anders's mouth twitched, the amusement hidden behind his annoyance showing through. Not that the annoyance wasn't real, by any means, but that was to be expected.

"Would you care for a drink?" Fenris asked, picking up the bottle of wine he'd been sipping at from the small table beside him and gesturing in Anders's direction with it.

Anders rolled his eyes. "What I'd care for," he said pointedly, "is a shirt. Not to mention my boots, my coat, and my staff. None of which are where I left them when I got into the bath."

Fenris took another swallow of wine, as Anders obviously wasn't going to take him up on the offer. "Is that so?"

"Is that so?" Anders repeated incredulously. " _Is that so?_ You damn well know it's so." His eyes flashed blue for just a second, barely long enough to notice. "Fenris, I need to get back to the clinic. Where are my things?"

Fenris calmly took another drink of wine. "In your room."

Anders reached up and pinched the bridge of my room. "In my room," he repeated. "Why are they in my—" He cut off abruptly. "Wait, what?"

Allowing himself a slight smirk, Fenris held the bottle of wine out in Anders's direction again. Anders stared at it before wordlessly walking over and taking the bottle from his hand, silently taking a rather large gulp of it.

Then he dropped down in a nearby chair.

"Since when do I have a room?" Anders asked, his voice sounding a bit strained. He clutched the wine bottle rather tightly in his grip, as if he was afraid to let it go.

Fenris shrugged. "Sometime between you getting in the bath and getting out."

Anders stared at him, an unreadable look on his face. There was an awkward, almost oppressive air to the silence between them.

Fenris shifted a bit uncomfortably after several seconds had passed.

"Let me rephrase that," Anders said finally, his voice almost toneless. " _Why_ do I have a room?"

Fenris reached out and plucked the wine bottle of Anders's grip, jerking slightly to get him to loosen his hold on it. He took another swallow before setting it back down on the table beside him.

"It was decided that someone needs to watch you," he said matter-of-factly, "since you've made it clear that you're incapable of taking care of yourself."

Anders flinched, a distant look appearing in his eyes. Fenris knew, without a doubt, that he was thinking about the incident from the previous week. It had been pure luck that Isabela had stopped by his clinic for a salve that night. If she hadn't, there was a good chance that their motley crew would have been short one mage.

It surprised him how much that thought unnerved him.

All things considered, it hadn't been that long ago that Fenris would have gladly taken any excuse to put his fist through the man's chest. If it hadn't been for that bloodbath on the Wounded Coast earlier in the year, he probably would still… but, no, that was something to think about another time. Or perhaps not to think about at all.

Fenris reached over and rested his hand on the wine bottle, but he didn't take another drink. "Hawke offered to make up a room for you at the estate."

Anders blinked at that. "Then why am I not at Hawke's?"

Fenris shot him an unamused look. "Three apostates under one roof?" he asked dryly. "Including a blood mage and an abomination? I felt it was unwise."

"You felt it was unwise," Anders repeated slowly.

Fenris glared at him, letting some of his own annoyance come through. "That is the third time you have repeated my words back to me. I'm starting to think there is something wrong with your hearing."

"Bite me," Anders snapped at him.

Fenris grinned, pointedly opening his mouth a little wider than normal so that his teeth could be seen. "That could be arranged, mage."

Anders's face reddened slightly, and he looked away.

Neither of them said anything for several seconds. The silence wasn't quite as oppressive as before, but it was far from being comfortable.

"It's your decision," Fenris said finally, carefully not looking at Anders's face. "I'm not your master, and neither is Hawke. If you wish to remain in the clinic and get yourself killed, so be it."

Anders snorted. "Oh, yes," he muttered, his voice almost dripping with sarcasm, "because wording it that way isn't even a little manipulative."

Fenris didn't flinch, but it took quite a bit of effort on his part to resist the urge. Instead, he carefully kept his gaze turned away from Anders.

The room settled into an uncomfortable stillness.

After almost a full minute of the silence, Fenris brought the wine bottle back up to his mouth. Before he could take a swallow, though, a hand suddenly appeared out of nowhere and covered the top of it. His lips pressed against warm skin instead of cool glass.

Fenris allowed himself a few extra seconds, his lips pressed against Anders's hand in something that could almost be a kiss, before slowly bringing the bottle down. Then he looked up, raising his eyebrows.

There was still a hint of shadow on Anders's face, and something unreadable shone in his eyes, but it wasn't nearly as prevalent as it had been just a few minutes earlier.

"How am I supposed to make a decision without seeing this room of mine?" Anders asked lightly.

Fenris's mouth twitched. "It would be unwise," he agreed. "Which is why I'm surprised _you_ , of all people—"

"Oh, no you don't," Anders said, cutting in. "If I'm going to live here, then you can't insult me in my own home."

"I insult you in your own clinic regularly," Fenris pointed out.

Anders scowled at him. "You're not helping your case," he grumbled under his breath, although there wasn't actually any heat to it. Then he sighed, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "Well, come on then. Where exactly is this room you keep going on about?"

Shaking his head, Fenris pushed himself to his feet and stretched. It made him smirk, just a little, to see Anders watching him admiringly as he did so.

"Follow me then," he said, gesturing for Anders to stay behind him.

Anders made an appreciative noise, deep in his throat. "Gladly," he said. "I can't beat the view."

No matter what the mage might claim, Fenris did _not_ stumble at his words. Nor did his face redden even remotely.


End file.
